


From Madrid, With Love.

by DirtyMartini (Zetaii)



Series: With Love, For You. [3]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smut, its rly dramatic but also a little fluffy and lots of smut, jinyoung wears dresses a lot, literature student jaebum - Freeform, performing arts student jinyoung, some markjin sprinkled here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 15:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zetaii/pseuds/DirtyMartini
Summary: "He’s a literature student," Jinyoung said. "They never mean what they say."





	

**AN: This is a much, much longer version of a fic I wrote ages ago in a little drabble compilation I have around here so if you get confused because it sounds familiar - don’t worry lol.**

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle San Juan, N34.  
February 16th, 2017.  
11:35.

  
Jaebum couldn’t ever define Jinyoung.

If he could, Jaebum would have written dictionaries full of him. He would have wrecked the pages in black ink in a week's time, five-hundred thirty seven colourless pages without pictures.

Without pictures because his long and detailed descriptions of everything physical created the most vibrant and fascinating images, anyway.

Descriptions of everything physical.

Jaebum meant what he said, and when he told Jinyoung about it - Jinyoung, holding a croissant in one hand and a small white plate holding up a small white coffee cup in the other - He laughed.

They were sitting by a small table in the botanical garden of their student residency. It smelled fresh, Spanish sun bright up and awake at eleven a.m. They were in comfortable clothes, Jinyoung in long sleeves and Jaebum in demin. It was the coldest it was ever going to be, which meant it was hotter than any other place in Europe at that time.

When Jinyoung laughed, Jaebum added another four pages to add to his dictionary. One about how his smile reached his eyes, another about how he was terrible at faking it, the third about the stupidly erotic thickness of his soft lips that Jaebum has felt around his callused fingers countless times, and the fourth about how much he loved it when Jinyoung showed his teeth to the world when he smiled.

"But you’re a literature student!" Jinyoung exclaimed, giggling in his coffee cup.

It was the one thing that Jinyoung always came back to.

Jaebum was a literature student, and Jaebum was a romantic who fell deeply in love with anybody who catched his eye. He was a literature student, and he was a natural player with his words.

Jinyoung couldn’t trust literature students,

they loved too fast and lived too quick.

He was a literature student doing his masters after years of getting top grades in his university in the United States. Jinyoung was a performing arts student in his final year, spending half of it working, and the other half falling with Jaebum in the bedsheets of their apartment on the third floor of the Barrio de las Rosas.

They were abroad in Madrid, in the breathing lung of Europe - town of graffiti vandalism and warm coloured houses, festivals for every occasion and blossoming flowers of culture which pumped the metaphorical blood in the streets of the Spanish city which loved Turkish food more than the Turkish people did.

Jaebum was a literature student doing his masters, and if he was asked to define any word on any terrestrial dictionary, he could do it in a heartbeat.

Jaebum was a smart man, and quickly concluded that Jinyoung was from another planet.

He wondered if Saturn's dictionaries had words that could properly define the walking enigma that was Jinyoung. Jaebum wanted to read all of them, understand them and he was jealous of astronauts for being closer to his goal than Jaebum was.

He took a sip of his coffee.

"I’ll call it the _Jinyoungtionary_ ," Jaebum nodded, putting his hand on his boyfriends. "I bet it’ll beat the Oxford dictionary in sales."

Jinyoung sighed, blushed, "You’re disgusting," He said.

Jaebum was a literature student, and he knew that Jinyoung’s words never really meant much.

Jinyoung was a performing arts student, and he knew that Jaebum was a hopeless romantic on his road of finding a fictional paperbook romance.

They were in love.

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle San Pablo.  
November 14th.  
22:30

  
They were better than Madrid. They were on top of it.

The city was their kingdom, and Jinyoung was the king who choose Jaebum as the lucky person to rule over the giant shopping streets and jungles of buildings with him. They were the elite of the city, dressed like they walked out of a fashion editorial and talked about things most people never ever thought about.

They walked with class without trying to act the part. They were better than Madrid, they were on top of it, but like the best leaders, their tower was a lonely and beat-up apartment in the colourful backstreets of the Spanish capital.

They were monochrome, they were colourful. They were high-fashion, they were Sunday sweaters with coffee stains. They were the city that never sleeps, they were midday naps.

They were happy, they were not.

Their small apartment was Jaebum’s personal sanctuary.

It was messy, and Jaebum never got tired of asking Jinyoung to please take his sweaters off the floor everytime he got home from work and took it off. It was full of pot plants and dirt, the fridge buzzed late into the night, and the creaky door didn’t open unless you kicked it.

Jaebum wouldn’t have had it any other way.

He loved the dirt and the plants and the flickering kitchen lights, loved fucking Jinyoung into the noisy bed made out of antique Spanish wood every weekend till it was time for dinner and they fell in and out of consciousness - just to make love to one another again and again and again till Jaebum wrapped his hand around Jinyoung’s throat a little too hard.

Jinyoung never minded the pain.

They were on top of the loud bustling city of which the pause buttom was broken, but the track itself was a stu-stu-stu-stumbling song with guitars and latin dancers.

The first time Jinyoung saw Jaebum, it was when Jaebum saw Jinyoung.

Jinyoung was performing at the Teatro Lara, The Lara Theater, on the street of San Pablo dressed in burlesque fashion and extensions which reached his voluptuous hips and a flower in his hair which was given to him by a classmate who was very much in love with Jinyoung, but Jinyoung could not return his feelings with anything more but a one night fling after their midterms were finished.

He was the most feminine dancer between the women. He learned how to walk in heels since he was a teenager, and a slavic woman named Nina taught him how to talk and seduce both men and women. Nina also taught him how to put on lipstick, and Nina helped Jinyoung become the person he craved to be.

Like the movie posters from the 60s. Like Audrey Hepburn, like Marilyn Monroe - Jinyoung desperately wanted to be like them. He pushed his shoulders back, lift his chin up and crossed his legs - chased black and white motion pictures and scratched vinyl records.

He smoked just to be gracious and seductive, Jinyoung was unanimously voted to perform at the Lara Threater during an internship program, and the owners loved him so much that they asked him to stay there a little longer.

The first time Jinyoung saw the stars, it was in Madrid.

Jaebum was an intimidating looking man dressed in black from tip to toe and wore a checkered scarf around his neck which covered up half his face. He wore a metal necklace which hung low on his chest and two piercings in his eyebrows.

He bended nature and made the November night weather drop several degrees just by standing against the dirty brick wall of the backstreet of the famous theatre.

Jinyoung was taken at first sight.

"You were beautiful."

Those were Jaebum's first words to Jinyoung, ten thirty at night and in flawless spanish.

"I couldn't concentrate on anybody else, I had to make sure that you were really real."

"Are you disappointed now?" Jinyoung said, meekly, slyly, a little childish.

And stranger man said, "No. I’m overwhelmed, actually."

Insecurity was the pin that pinched his world and drained the colour out of it after each performance Jinyoung did. He was obsessed with the attention, the adrenaline, the colour - and Jaebum gave him the chance to make that feeling permanent.

Jinyoung performed every night since that one, and Jaebum made him feel the kind of beautiful he felt like while performing on stage,

 

Off stage,

 

With make up on,

 

With make up off,

 

Dressed,

 

And,

 

Undressed.

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle San Pablo.  
November 14th, 2016.  
22:30

 

Jaebum’s mother was briefly concerned when she found burlesque magazines instead of porn hidden under her teenage sons bed. She moped around the house for approximately a week, asking herself whether she should bring it up or not.

In the end, she decided against it, because the next time she looked under Jaebum's bed, the magazines were gone.

Jaebum's first girlfriend was a dancer. When he stopped to think about it, he realized that all his partners were, somehow, related to dancing.

His first girlfriend, for example, was a Hispanic breakdancer. She wore baggy pants and her snapbacks were always on the other way around. Jaebum was fourteen when he asked her out, and Jaebum's mother was briefly concerned over her son dating a tomboy.

Jaebum wondered if what he felt for her was love or admiration of how she could move her hips. She was his first kiss, but his first love came three years later.

Jaebum's first love was stripper. She was a year older and lived by herself, she had tattoos on her belly and she smoked like she was sucking the life-force out of the cigarettes - Jaebum's first love was a stripper, and he was completely blinded by her charms. So much, in fact, that he didn't care when she cheated on him once, twice and thrice.

He smoked for her, learned the names of different brands of whiskey because of her. He got piercings, got his arms tattoeed, he let his hair grow out and swore he wanted to become an artist. He moved in with her to his mothers expense.

They lasted a year and a hundred thirty six days until she broke up with him with a note by the kitchen table and rent debt.

Jaebum swore he was never going to fall for dancers again, but alas, boys and girls lined up to him in the club, and Jaebum fell for them everytime.

Jaebum's love was intense, but nothing was quite like what he felt for Jinyoung.

Several years and two partners later, Jaebum’s university classmates convinced him that there was an amazing club downtown which had the prettiest girls in all of Madrid - and Jaebum, foolish and bored out of his mind, decided to go with them.

It was November 14th, it was cold enough for Jaebum to wear his sweater and a scarf covering half of his face. It was late at night, and the red lights dimmed down and he felt like his breath was knocked right of his chest when the dancers went on stage.

Jaebum wasn't sure if anybody else noticed, but he knew that Jinyoung was very obviously a boy beneath the corset and wig. Jaebum was enthralled, and Jinyoung quickly became the only person on that stage.

Jaebum was carnal by instinct. He always got what he wanted, and at that moment he wanted to leave his mark all over Jinyoung's tanned body.

He wanted his lipstick prints plastered down his jaw, and he wanted to make Jinyoung cry.

When his friends asked him if he was going with them to drink around the city, Jaebum dipped out to wait for the dancers to walk out the relentless cold. He waited for thirty minutes, his phone battery had died and a police officer asked him if he was alright.

"Are you disappointed now?" Jinyoung asked.

"No, I'm overwhelmed, actually."

They were fake coincidences and they were transparent lies - they were Jinyoung and Jaebum, they were in love.

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle San Pablo.  
November 18th, 2016.  
23:30

 

Everything happened fast and nothing felt forced or rushed.

Jaebum watched Jinyoung every night for a week after the first, and he waited for him with a single rose until Jinyoung finally let him walk him home.

"I don’t think it’s weird," Jinyoung said on their third night, putting Jaebum’s rose in his hair. "I appreciate the directness, actually. Most men want to impress me with their wealth and act tough - you’re different."

They learned that they were both Korean. Even so, Jinyoung was fluent in it the same way that Jaebum wasn’t. Jinyoung was born in Busan the same way Jaebum was born in New York. Jinyoung grew up in a broke immigrant area of Germany the same way Jaebum lived in the suburbs. They were different, but beneath the struggle, also the same.

It took Jaebum four days to take Jinyoung out on a date after work. Jinyoung, even without his dress and corset and extensions in his hair, still looked ethereal swamped in his black jacket. He never took off his eyeliner, and Jaebum never asked him if it was intentional or not.

He took him out to eat in a cheap snackbar, and Jinyoung wouldn’t have had it any other way.

They ate kebab with chips, and they watched youngsters roam the Friday streets of Madrid as they walked with heavy plastic bags clinking from the sound of alcohol bottles bumping against each other the same way Jinyoung and Jaebum's shoulders did when they were laughing.

Jinyoung suggested they played a game of guessing what each passing person was up to, where they were going and which place they came from.

The youngsters were all going to have a big orgy on the park benches, and the man in a suit was going to cheat on his wife for the fourth time that month. Jinyoung was a hilarious person, Jaebum thought.

"I think we’re meant to be, Im Jaebum."

Which was how it took Jaebum six days and five roses to push Jinyoung against his wall with a loud bang - he put his right hand next to his head and turned him around so he could feel Jinyoung’s ass against his crotch. He fondled his chest, didn’t miss the breasts he didn’t have, and he breathed down his neck so hungry and animalistic that he should have been embarrased.

They were stripped down to animals, and Jinyoung didn’t say anything that night. He mewled, he gasped for air, Jaebum left scratches on his back and his butt, he left butterfly kisses on his neck and collarbones. Jinyoung let him take him, possess every part of his body for the night, and he wouldn’t complain but take it, take it and take it like he was used to.

The first time Jinyoung and Jaebum fucked, it wasn’t on a bed or a couch - it was against the wall, bent over the table with half their clothes still on, and it was hard.

Jaebum knew from the very beginning that Jinyoung’s words didn’t meant much, so he wanted to make every moan, every gasp and every mewl count.

Because those were the only times Jaebum knew it was real.

Years later, he still found it hard to believe.

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle San Juan, N34.  
January 13th.  
11:35.

 

 

Fighting with each other only meant that they were fed up with themselves.

Supermarket trips became a weekly chore. Jinyoung liked to smash cups, and Jaebum liked to stay silent when his words were the patch to the open wound of their fights.

The supermarket was big and grey and organized by meats and fruits, and Jinyoung would always hop in the cart and make Jaebum push him through it, filling it up with bare necessities and lots of snacks that Jaebum didn’t eat.

Jaebum was bad at fighting.

He’d count from one till ten, breathe in, breathe out, and then he’d leave a panting, hysterical Jinyoung in their beat up kitchen. Beat up tiles that were cracked and a beat up refrigerator that buzzed too much. Beat up window frame that let in too much wind, and beat up light bulbs that flickered every couple of seconds.

Beat up Jinyoung that let his feelings out on stage, and beat up Jaebum who wrote them down on paper.

Jaebum was taught to keep his feelings to himself the same way Jinyoung was taught to express them.

Jaebum thought that letting your true feelings be known was like leaving an open door in a neighbourhood full of thieves, and Jinyoung wanted to unapologetically feel the breeze of the wind even if he got robbed.

Jaebum was a writer,

And Jinyoung, after everything, was still a performer.

The door became an obstacle, and naturally, things could only go right for so long before the writer and the performer set the apartment on fire and let the Spanish, blazing and boiling hot sun spread it all across the city of Madrid.

It didn’t matter, Jinyoung reasoned, after everything was said and done, the two of them could go to the supermarket and rebuild the capital. They were Jaebum and Jinyoung, after all, the performer and the writer, the creator and the executor. They could do anything, they could do everything.

The first time the fire burned the kitchen the suffocating air never really went away. Jaebum had the fast taste of gasoline on his tongue but Jinyoung never seemed to notice it.

Gasoline smoothies were Mark Tuan's specialty. He was a young bartender and Jaebum felt hopelessly insecure about his relationship with Jinyoung. He spoke more languages than Jaebum did, made Jinyoung laugh more than Jaebum did, smiled more than Jaebum did.

It was on the third month of their relationship when the fire broke out.

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle Consuelo, N34.  
January 15th.  
21:10.

 

Mark Tuan came from a difficult home situation, and Jinyoung would lie if his intentions with the boy were anything but biblical when they first met.

To be fair, the feelings were completely and utterly mutual. Mark wanted Jinyoung badly, and Jinyoung wanted to know what it was like to make love to a boy as emotionally damaged as the Taiwanese runaway was.

He met Mark when he was nineteen and working at the supermarket near Jinyoung's university.

Mark Tuan was not depressed all the time. Rather, he seemed chipper most of them, and a little gloomy during the rest of it. It was the kind of happiness that had a tinge of sadness linger at the end of every sentence and every word he whispered to Jinyoung deep, deep into the night.

Jinyoung thought that Mark was absolutely beautiful - in both body and soul.

The two of them became each others support mechanism after they accidentally found the other years later in Madrid. It was unplanned and unexpected, and if Jinyoung were a little more romantic like Jaebum was, he would have called it faith and destiny and talk about meant-to-be's.

When Mark ended up on the streets, Jinyoung offered him a bed and late night lazy make-out sessions. It wasn't carnal, it was emotional.

"I don't think my boyfriend likes you very much, Mark." Jinyoung said, flipping over the fashion magazine on Mark's couch. He had a nice apartment two blocks away from Jaebum and Jinyoung's place.

"The feeling is mutual." Mark deadpanned, drinking his smoothie.

"He's been nothing but nice to me."

"Won't be saying that when he tells you not to hang out with me." Mark shrugged.

"He's no boss of me," Jinyoung said. "You know that there's no man alive that can tell me what to do."

Mark smiled at this, looking at Jinyoung on his couch. It was a gorgeous view, Mark quietly wished he could tie him up and keep him there forever until Mark couldn't pay his rent any longer and the two would inevitably get kicked out of the apartment.

He sighed.

"I know, Jinyoungie."

 

-

 

Madrid.

Calle Poromponmero, N4.

September 2nd.

00:00.

 

The first and last time Mark and Jinyoung had sex was when Mark had the first breakdown he'd been through ever since he got to Madrid. Neither of them were ever going to forget that night.

Mark was sobbing, breathing so hard that Jinyoung thought he was having a panic attack. He hit random objects, but never broke any of it. It was the first time Mark told Jinyoung the full story of his life, and Jinyoung felt overwhelmed.

It was so typical, and it made it all the more depressing.

Drug addict parents, and social services never showed their ugly mugs in their part of town, but the debt collectors most definitely did. Mark worked at a sewing factory as a kid, and he burned his hands countless of times before they got bigger and more useless. He moved out of his beaten down apartment to move to other beaten down apartments. He did his best in school but was ultimately forced to drop out. He sold drugs for a while, which was he met Jinyoung at the nightclub, and everything went alright.

That was, until his grandmother called him to say that his parents weren't opening the door and that neighbours were complaining about an awful stench coming from their room.

The rest is secondary and predictable. Mark got a reality check, and realized that he was going to die if he kept up with the lifestyle he was having. So he bought the cheapest one-way ticket they had to offer, and moved to Madrid before finding Jinyoung passed out near a nightclub and taking him home with him to make sure he was alive.

Mark was fine. He was doing okay.

He wasn't eating pet food anymore because it was cheaper. He grew up, he saw his parents as humans - he never blamed them for anything. They were let down by the system, they were seen as extras, and that wasn't their fault.

But Mark refused to go down the same path as them. Sometimes, however, the burden was too heavy to carry on his own, and he tripped and broke his nose when he didn't have money for medical bills.

The night of June sixteenth was the night he learned that others can share your weight. Jinyoung showed it to him.

He had a breakdown the second week he spent in Jinyoung's apartment. He couldn't find a job, and one woman even told him his hands were ugly from the burn marks. He cried, he cried and he cried and Jinyoung kissed him, kissed him and kissed it better.

He kissed his tears, he grabbed his wrists - he wasn't afraid that Mark would hit him. He protected him from himself, and physical comfort was the only thing Mark had at the time. So he kissed him, kissed him back and Jinyoung took care of him.

"I'm here for you," Jinyoung repeated it like a mantra. "Breathe in, breathe out - just like that. You're here. You're safe."

It was the first and last time Mark and Jinyoung had sex. Jinyoung thought Mark was going to die from how hard he was breathing, and Mark, for the first time in his life, felt like his life had no purpose.

Jinyoung never ever compared Jaebum to Mark.

But if he had to, the difference and distinction was clear.

 

-

 

Madrid.

Calle San Juan, N34.

December 9th.

22:20.

 

"You're going to see Mark again?" Jaebum asked on a Saturday night, fixing up his jacket. "You sure you don't want to go with me?"

"I would if it was a photography masterclass but ancient Greek politics really doesn't interest me - so yeah, I'm sure."

Jaebum checked his keys and his wallet before passing by the bathroom, where Jinyoung was blow drying his hair and wearing Jaebum's favourite turtleneck. He sighed at the sight, a little worried.

"Are you going to the club?"

Jinyoung frowned, and Jaebum only saw it because he looked in the mirror.

"I've told you," Jinyoung said. "Mark doesn't go to clubs anymore. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? the masterclass is only till midnight." Jaebum said a little amused, not ready for Jinyoung to turn around looking annoyed.

"You don't expect me to just stay in for the evening, right?" He chuckled. "I'm staying there for the night, like the good old times?"

Which was when he turned on his heel and grabbed his phone to text something to someone, and Jaebum suspected it was Mark again. He walked over to where his boyfriend was, not exactly sure what to say but hoping he knew what it was when he got there.

"What?" Jinyoung asked, looking up at Jaebum standing a centimeter away from him while he was sitting down. "Want me to suck your dick before you leave?"

Jaebum looked at him in disapproval.

"I don't like you being there all the time." He said.

"Okay," Jinyoung frowned, his phone buzzed. "And?"

"And," Jaebum continued. "My boyfriend should understand that I don't want him around his ex-boyfriends. Much less sleep over like they're little kids."

Little kid. Jinyoung felt weak at the words for a second remembering all the times people had called him that in his life - it was a small crack in the armour that stopped hurting after the he turned the faucet on.

The water was plunging into the sink.

He briefly noted they were running out of soap.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." Jinyoung said, and pointedly told Jaebum that he and Mark were never boyfriends, but if Jaebum was going to act the way he was acting, perhaps they should have been.

Jaebum didn't expect that, because Jaebum was bad at fighting and coincidentally, Jinyoung was very good at it. So he didn't retort to what Jinyoung say. He didn't laugh or try to one-up him. He didn't step forward to intimidate his boyfriend.

Instead, he stayed quiet.

Quiet like writers were supposed to be.

Then he turned around and walked out without locking the door. He left his keys on the table, and Jinyoung wondered in what bed he was going to sleep that night. Even so, his phone lit up again and it was Mark asking him to buy popcorn on the way.

Mark liked them sweet, whilst Jaebum liked them salty.

Jinyoung liked them both.

 

-

 

Madrid.

Calle San Juan, N34.

January 13th.

21:32.

 

The fire was temporarily kept under control the way they always did. With a cupboard full of new coffee cups and plates, and a bleeding Jaebum grabbing his cheek. It itched and it stung at the same time and Jinyoung was crying and snotty when he treated the wounds.

"I'm so sorry Jaebum." Jinyoung barely managed to sob out.

"I'm sorry too."

They were equally sincere, and equally bound to make the same mistake twice and thrice more in the same month. It was like they were in love with the conflict, the blood and the police at their door asking if everything was alright.

It was like they got a kick out of hurting each other. Jaebum never wanted them to hurt each other.

In the end, none of their issues were ever resolved. Years later, Jaebum wondered if it would have made a difference in the outcome. Somehow, he doubts it.

The second time the wind blew and the fire spread was when Jaebum photographed a nude woman for his photography class, and the woman was gorgeous and feminine and oozed pheromones through the photographs - which was the one thing Jinyoung couldn't ever imitate, no matter how much he practiced.

The third time it happened, it happened for no reason at all.

Jinyoung just wanted to feel the bite and fight with Jaebum, so he made up an excuse to be mad at him and push him against their closet. Years later, the door was still broken, and still nobody called to get it fixed.

It was the most physical fight they had ever had. Jaebum dislocated his shoulder from the push and shoved Jinyoung out the door when he tried to touch him - Jinyoung resisted, however, and Jaebum, in his stupidest moments, grabbed his hair and forced him out, accidentally throwing him on the floor.

Holding his pen and camera hurt for a week, but nothing compared to the hurt he felt when he went to watch Jinyoung dance for the first time in seven days and he was completely out of it.

This time, it happened because Jaebum was texting a boy from his group project too much in Jinyoung's opinion.

"Is he attractive to you?" Jinyoung wanted to know. "If he is, will you stalk him till he falls in love with you, just like you made me fall for you?"

It was the first time Jinyoung said he loved Jaebum. It wasn't explicit, and he never said it again after that even though Jaebum made sure to tell him every single night. It was the first time Jinyoung said he loved Jaebum, and it made Jaebum trip and fall in love all over again.

So he leaped forward to sush him with his lips - with his wrists pinned against the wall of which the paint was already crumbling off and leaving a mess on the floor. There were pot plants everywhere, and they meticulously watered them every evening.

Jinyoung gasped, looked up at Jaebum.

"He's straight," Jaebum said between the fourth and fifth kiss. "And besides, I wouldn't trade you for the world."

Jinyoung pouted at this, Jaebum let him go.

"Promise?"

So then Jaebum sighed, smiled, looked at Jinyoung. At his eyes and his perfectly imperfect complexion, at his feminine curves - he looked at his lips, his cupids bow, the faint freckles on his cheeks. Then he opened his mouth, lowered his voice and said,

"I promise."

They were better than Madrid, they were on top of it.

Mark called it toxic isolation, and the apartment cleaners, the limpiadoras, agreed everytime they picked up trashbags full of broken glass that were put by the stairs. They were on top of the world, and their passion got the best of them.

They melted into each other, just like they melted into one another, just like they couldn't get away from the other.

They were better than Madrid, they were on top of it.

But in that exact same way,

They were at the bottom of it.

  
-

 

Madrid.  
Calle Real.  
April 6th, 2017.  
13:35.

 

But above all, there were moments that neither Jaebum or Jinyoung were ever going to forget. No matter how much the scent of gasoline was making Jaebum dizzy, and no matter how many pierced and tattooed boys Jinyoung was going to meet after that.

Their highs were skyscrapers amidst the village with houses made out of wood and there was no space for anyone else in their bubble when they balanced on the edge of the balcony of the the highest floor.

Jaebum remembers the day the two of them decided to go to as many cafés in Madrid they could in twenty four hours and stuff themselves with sweet pattiserie and coffee and decide which they liked better.

They went to hipster cafeterias which had little gardens on the inside and they were a little more expensive than the other ones. Jaebum thought that their chocolate muffins were the best of them all, but Jinyoung had to disagree and go for the apple pie from a family café hidden deep in the streets of Madrid instead.

They ran over red signs and made a ruckus in the metro when Jinyoung was hanging on the monkey bars even though there was barely any space to breathe in. They took turns in calling out numbers and stepped out in unknown locations which each random bus number they took.

Jaebum made a big scene of kissing Jinyoung out of the bus when he didn’t move, and when they knocked over a "no running sign" and an older man with a cigar threatened to call security on them, they ran like they were six year old and at a new playground again.

Jinyoung and Jaebum had endless fun that day, and Jinyoung will forever remember it as the day of kissing in the middle of Madrid business hustle, coffeecakes and the first time Jaebum filmed him in bed.

They were tipsy off of wine and the table against their kitchen window was Jinyoung’s makeshift bed when Jaebum pushed him against it, letting anyone looking up their window see exactly what was going on.

With Jaebum’s thumb in his mouth, sucking on it. With Jaebum calling him ’princesa’ and Jinyoung looking into the lens of the camera, moaning more than he usually did, making it a show less for Jaebum and more out of his own vanity.

Jinyoung’s first love was the camera, and Jaebum bitterly realized that he could never ever compete with the adrenaline of the stage - so with this, he looked down on a delirious Jinyoung with saliva running down his chin and he smudged the lipstick he playfully put on earlier that night across his cheek.

"You’re a a camerawhore, aren’t you, Jinyoungie?"

Jinyoung, with plants decorating the picture he was the protagonist of, view of the city behind him and television playing on a low volume in the background, southern spanish accents forever recorded on Jaebum’s film labeled ’ANightInMadrid.Mp4’, Jinyoung looked straight into the camera, holding Jaebum’s free hand with the little strenght he could muster up in his limbs and said,

"Yes, yes I am."

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle San Juan, N34.  
February 16th, 2017.  
11:35.

 

Jinyoung's oxygen got cut off and it was the most liberating thing he had ever felt. His head was uncomfortably leaning against the window, and his lungs felt like they were being filled up with salty ocean water and offshore fishes were swimming in his brains.

Jinyoung briefly rememberes the first time he stopped breathing for his own satisfaction. He was fourteen years old and his parents were deep and fast asleep in the room next-door, Jinyoung was thinking about the theatre boy he had a crush on, and one thing lead to another, his hands moving from one part to the other.

His head was hanging off the edge of the bed when he grabbed his own throat seconds before he reached his climax. He remembers how funny his Adam's apple felt when he put pressure on it, and distinctly remembers the colours he saw after his vision went funny and his head felt lighter than a bag of feathers.

Even so, the first time Jinyoung got choked in bed was on the twentieth of April, during a festive week that wasn't all that festive for Jinyoung, because Jaebum still had to go to work and school.

The ocean salt tasted funny on his lips that day.

The fish were wandering around the colourful streets of Madrid dressed in white blouses that contrasted wonderfully with their tan skin. He recognized the faint scent of sangria mixed with lemon. The soundtrack of his madrileñan film was one of kids laugther and clinks of glasses.

It felt nostalgic. It felt a little sad.

Jinyoung didn't know why he felt that way. Even so, it was hard to ignore when he could hear the busttle of the city from every room of their little apartment. He hung his body out of the window behind their couch to look at the families walking hand-in-hand bumping into other families walking hand-in-hand.

They were all dressed in white and they all had red coloured roses pinned against their dresses or blouses or placed behind their ears. Jinyoung wanted one too.

It was the twentieth of April, and Jinyoung's favourite guessing game was one of predicting where the passers-by were going to. He liked to judge and grade them by their appeareances too, but promptly realized that he found everyone beautiful in their own little ways.

Jinyoung didn't like to be alone, but at the same time he couldn't live without the feeling.

Even so, on that particular night in which their apartment felt like an isolated planet that had nothing to do with the laugther and happiness of the rest of the world, Jinyoung craved for Jaebum.

Which was how he fell asleep on the couch, and was woken up by a pair of soft hands lightly shaking his shoulders. He was sleeping in a funny position, and his neck was a little sore. Jinyoung pretended like he didn't notice Jaebum was there.

Jaebum kept playing with his hair. He had the faint scent of tobacco on the sleeves of his suit, and a whiff of sangria and fire on his skin.

Jinyoung opened his eyes to look at his boyfriend squatting down to touch him. Jaebum was smiling at him fondly, unvexed by Jinyoung waking up from his slumber.

"Good evening, darling." Jaebum said.

"Welcome home," Jinyoung replied. "I missed you."

So Jaebum kissed him, and he kissed him and he kissed him till Jinyoung had to pull him off to catch some air. Jaebum's breath louder and faster with each second that passed. They had dinner, and Jaebum kissed him some more while Jinyoung made their food. They were splurged on the couch with their legs tangled into one another - they didn't clean up the plates, nor did they care about the taste of spaghetti on each others tongues.

They were needy and they were horny from their favourite wine. It was cheap and sold in boxes on the bottom shelf of the supermarket. It was their absolute favourite, even if it was a little lukewarm and bitter.

Jaebum's grabby hands made quick work of going from Jinyoung's thighs to his butt, putting his hands up his shirts to play with his nipples until they stopped kissing and Jaebum nipped and kissed them instead.

"I wish you could wait for me this way forever," Jaebum whispered. "Would you that for me, Jinyoungie?"

Jinyoung wasn't a liar. He didn't answer Jaebum, and part of him thought that Jaebum didn't expect one in the first place. Jinyoung wasn't a stray cat that would patiently wait for Jaebum to get home every night. He wasn't stuck with his feet on the ground - Jinyoung was free, free like an eagle that flew through the sky whenever and wherever it wanted.

Jinyoung was a bird that stayed by Jaebum's window - and Jaebum never had the hear to grab and cage him in his house forever.

The festive laugther and clinks of glasses became a distant noise. They became nostalgic and sad, and the car engines were suddenly amplified. People turned into mice, and Jaebum knew that he could easily bend Jinyoung over the couch and window and show the whole city how beautiful Jinyoung looked while getting fucked.

"I don't like you staying out so late," Jinyoung's voice broke, Jaebum didn't wonder why. "It makes me feel lonely."

Jaebum kissed him feverishly. Jinyoung took his callused fingers and took his thumb in his mouth. Jaebum felt his gums and each of his teeth. He explored his mouth and thrusted it in and out of his mouth.

"That's enough." He said.

That night, Jaebum didn't stop kissing Jinyoung even when he was fucking into him twice as hard as usual. He wanted Jinyoung to feel special, but at the same time he wanted himself to feel it too - he was Jinyoung's only audience, and Jaebum wanted to make sure that it was the only one he was going to need.

Which was how Jaebum noticed it.

Jinyoung's throat looked so vulnerable and fragile when he threw his head back - Jaebum couldn't stop staring at it. He didn't ask for permission, nor did Jinyoung expect it. Jaebum wrapped his fingers around Jinyoung's throat while reaching his climax, and he gasped hard.

Lightheaded, a little dizzy and patches of colour clouding his vision.

It was over as quickly as a toast over paella.

Jinyoung let himself fall on Jaebum's chest, heaving and gasping hard in his shirt. Jaebum carried him bridal style towards their bed - fresh sheets and with the musky scent of house plants.

It was past midnight, but the streets were still singing with instruments of happiness and wine glasses.

Jaebum wondered if Jinyoung could hear them.

 

-

Madrid.  
Calle Rojas, N34.  
July 16th.  
15:32.

 

"What would it have been like if we were dating instead?" Mark asked Jinyoung laying on his couch, scanning over the daily newspaper and checking out the horoscope without him noticing.

"We're too similar for that," Jinyoung answered simply, looking over Mark's body while zapping the tv from the other side of the couch, their legs tangled in each other - he decided to tease him a little. "Why, do you have a crush on me?"

Mark sighed, exasperated.

"Don't act like you don't know."

"Oh," Jinyoung said. "I know."

"Besides," Mark continued, untangling their legs but not once looking up from his newspaper. "I've been seeing someone - his name is Jackson and he's from the south and has zero manners, but I think I like him," He said. "Plus - he's a Virgo."

"That's-" Jinyoung wasn't sure what he was going to say, but opened his mouth anyway. He thought about it, and imagined Mark with another boy from the south. He imagined what the boy looked like, and wondered if they were going to fall in love with each other. Hold hands and go to the supermarket and then they'd fight but the boy would have to hold Mark down when he got sad.

"That's nice." He finally said, and continued watching the tv program the two were watching.

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle San Juan, N34.  
September 26th, 2017.  
23:47.

  
Jinyoung was needy for attention since a young age.

Jinyoung made the boys needy for his attention since a young age.

He started to play with make-up and his sisters dresses in his pre-teen years, and overtime, this became a key element in his career as a performing artist. He loved feeling silk against his skin, loved to feel pretty and being in touch with his femeninity.

Jinyoung was an independant spirit. When Jaebum fell in love with him, it was during his fourty-five minutes of red lipstick and burdeou red material on his sun-kissed tan skin.

The first time Jinyoung dressed up for Jaebum in the bedroom, it was after a performance and Jaebum insisted Jinyoung kept his clothes on.

"I like seeing you this way." He said, and Jinyoung could do nothing but comply.

That night, they ate pasta for dinner and in Jinyoung's opinion, Jaebum's tomato sauce was a little too sweet. Jaebum smoked by the window behind their couch, and everytime he threw the cigarette out of the window Jinyoung worried it was going to hit and burn someone on the street.

Jaebum argued that it didn't work that way.

Jinyoung still felt anxious when he did it.

"Now, I think I'm gonna go for my dessert." Jaebum tried, and Jinyoung laughed when he said it. He threw him on the bed and kissed him on every patch of skin he could find - Jaebum's hands crawling up his dress, feeling the fishnets and panties and corset. Jinyoung moaned in a higher pitch, mewled more than he grunted, grabbed Jaebum's hair in his hands to feel him closer.

"You're so beautiful, I'm so in love with you." Jaebum whispered in his ear, touching Jinyoung's most sensible parts, and flipping him over to admire the lines of his back and curves of his butt.

He let his nails lightly scratch over his body, especially his thick thighs before he smacked his ass leaving it pretty pink. Jinyoung grabbed the sheets, and, just like that, the two let themselves go.

In between corset and lace.

The clock kept ticking.

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle Real, N34.  
October 14th, 2017.  
18:59.

 

"What if I just drop and die right now?"

Jinyoung asked this while he was hanging dangerously over the rails of the rooftop, looking straight down like Jaebum had never seen anyone do. He lifted his leg up, balancing on his toes and his hands on the metal when he looked at Jaebum. Jaebum briefly worried he would actually topple off the highest building in Madrid and crack his skull open for hundreds of tourists - He did make fun of Jinyoung for having a big head, after all.

"You wouldn’t dare." Jaebum laughed, walking towards him.

"But what if I did?"

Jaebum thought about it. "Who knows? I might jump after you, or become a tragic artist that will cry about you before my brother brutally murders me."

Jinyoung giggled. "But you don’t have a brother."

"You don’t know until you get brutally murdered by them."

So Jaebum put his weight on Jinyoung’s chest, pushing his back over the rails of the rooftop which looked over the entire city of Madrid. Cars became plastic toys and people became little ants.

jinyoung relaxed his neck and depended on Jaebum. If he wanted to, Jaebum could have easily let go and there was nothing Jinyoung could do about it.

He depended on Jaebum.

"I don’t want you to jump after me," Jinyoung suddenly said with his eyes closed, cold breeze kissing their skin. "I want you to jump with me, Jaebum, let’s die."

For a brief second Jaebum thought that he meant it. He thought about it, opening his mouth to respond something along the lines of ’yes, Jinyoung, anything for you’, when Jinyoung laughed hard and hit his chest like it was the funniest thing he had seen in his entire life.

Jaebum was ready to die for Jinyoung, and he thought it was hilarious.

"I’m kidding, gosh."

Jaebum sighed.

"I can’t even begin to describe how worried you make me, Jinyoung."

And Jinyoung, as usual, would say,

"But you’re a literature student, Jaebum!"

 

  
-

 

Madrid.  
Calle Rojas, N34.  
February 16th, 2017.  
21:45.

 

Unsurprisingly, Jackson was a wonderful guy who brigthened the mood up just by being there and Jinyoung was genuinely happy that Mark found someone he could let in. They made a beautiful couple and this, finally, brought some peace to Jaebum’s mind and let his insecurity about their relationship rest.

The first time Jaebum and Jinyoung got to know the meaning behind the word _’sobremesa’_ was when Jackson explained it to them when they visited their apartment for dinner. They ate homemade tortilla and _Pasapalabra_ was playing on the TV while they ate on the dinner table.

Their neighbours made a lot of noise and Jinyoung could hear someone’s mother shout at their kids to go to sleep somewhere on the second floor.

"It’s the time you spend with loved ones at the table while eating." Jackson explained.

"Isn’t that just dinner?" Jinyoung asked, confused.

Jackson shook his head, accented English slipping out. "No no no - it’s not just dinner. It’s sobremesa. It’s special."

"Do you have to eat while you do it?" Jinyoung wondered.

"Of course!" Jackson said as if it were ridiculous that anyone would suggest otherwise. "You have to eat, it’s the most important thing you can do with a person."

"I don’t get it." Jinyoung said.

"Me neither." Jaebum agreed.

The mothers kept shouting at their kids, and Jinyoung helped Mark clean the plates after they finished. Mark gave him a bag of tomatos they got when they visited Jackson’s parents down south.

"Please be safe, Jinyoung." Mark said.

Jinyoung didn’t understand what he meant by that.

 

-

 

In the end, Jaebum decided that the best way to describe Jinyoung was just like that. By describing moments, fragments, and memories of Madrid instead.

Like the Spanish he could not understand when he first got there, like the siestas, like their apartment which was falling apart. Like spanish November nights, like the depressing amount of homeless people on the streets he walked, like the tapas, like the cocktails they drank, like the warmth of the sun, like burlesque music, like fucking on camera, like space, like beauty in the flesh, like complete and utter devotion, like heartache, like the concept of sobremesa.

Like Jinyoung.

Inexplicable, undefinable Jinyoung.

 

 

-

 

Madrid.  
Calle San Juan, N34.  
July 24th, 2018.  
22:50.

 

Jinyoung walked out of his life the same way he walked into it.

Graceful, untouchable, with long brown extensions, with feminine charm and make-up on.

When Jinyoung told him he was not comfortable in Madrid anymore, Jaebum couldn’t pretend like he was surprised or caught off guard by it.

Because Jinyoung could only be described by memories, he wasn’t tied down to places or words. He made Jaebum fall in love with him and finally, on a Sunday night that initially began like any other, Jinyoung told him that he was moving back to Berlin that same day. The evening started out with cheap box wine they had in their ever buzzing refrigerator, and Jaebum had gotten comfortable in his sweatpants sitting next to Jinyoung on their couch, ready to ask what he wanted to do the next day. 

The evening ended with one bag on the table a flight ticket in Jinyoung’s hands. 

Jaebum had never felt a heartache so disgustingly physical before.

"I love you, Jinyongie."

Jinyoung smiled.

Jaebum does not remember what Jinyoung’s last words directed at him were. He assumed it was something stupidly casual like ’eat well’, but much later figured out that it was an appropriate ending for the boy he could never, ever define. 

It was okay. Jaebum was a writer, and Jinyoung a performer.

His words never meant anything, anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I re-wrote this on a whim and was fueled by procastinating on an important exam I have tomorrow. I didn’t proofread it so it probably seems super jumbled but! I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you so much for reading, and please tell me what you think and feel free to curse at me for making all my endings so sad. Also trust me to always slip in a bit of markjin wherever and whenever I can lol. I’m gonna go pass out now.


End file.
